Fraggle Rock fic: The Mamas and The Papas

[Slackbot]

Hi ho and happy Pi Day. Eat a slice of pie in honor of irrational numbers. While you're eating that pie, you can read this story if you so desire, which seems likely as you're reading this thread right now. This takes place some years after Commonplace Miracles.

*****

The Mamas and The Papas
Part 1: People Like Us
By Kim McFarland​

*****

It was not a dark and stormy night in Fraggle Rock. Fraggles were playing in the Great Hall, in the passageways, in the pond, and anywhere else they happened to be. It was the beginning of summer, a time of high spirits for the Fraggles. They swam, sang, played games, explored, and burned off excess energy any other way they could think of.

Recently cryptic notes had begun appearing in the Great Hall and the surrounding caves, all addressed to "Fritz." For several days the scraps of paper, chalk graffiti, and small posters drawn and painted by many hands had been multiplying. Yesterday someone—nobody would admit to knowing who—had posted a message on the Fraggle Horn telling Fritz to come to the Firefly Cavern on the night of the new moon.

Everyone knew what that meant: The Poobahs, the secret society of which everyone was a member, would meet tonight. On the surface their meetings were grave, serious, and strict, but in reality they were one of the silliest activities Fraggles could take part in. The society came and went, meeting for a few weeks or months when the interest arose, and after it ran its course it disappeared for several more years, until the next revival.

In the room that Gobo and Wembley shared, those two plus Red, Mokey, Boober, and Janken had gathered. Mokey and Red were working on Red's Poobah costume. Janken watched with interest. The last time the Poobahs had met he had been too young to understand what was going on.

Mokey said, "I could paint some flowers in the top of your nose cover. Nobody else has a floral motif."

"Sure, if you want," Red said with a shrug.

Mokey looked up. "Red, you don't seem very enthusiastic."

"It's just the stupid timing, that's all."

Gobo said, "I know. But we decided last year."

"I know that! And I know that you can't help it either. But the timing still stinks."

Janken, sitting beside Wembley in his sleeping nook, listened without worrying. His parents squabbled on a regular basis. It never lasted long, and grudges were never kept after matters were settled, so it didn't bother him.

Before winter his family had planned to take part in this year's Midsummer Ritual so that next year Mokey would have another baby. That would make Janken a big brother, they had explained. He liked that idea. Like all rituals, it had to be done at just the right time to work; you couldn't call the Fraggle Moon on the wrong day and have it appear, and ringing bells before the Festival of the Bells wouldn't keep the Rock moving and bring on the thaw. This ritual had to be done when Mokey was ready, and she was ready now. It was earlier in the year than usual for Fraggles, but she couldn't help that. The problem was that they couldn't do the ritual and meet with the Poobahs at the same time, so they had to give one up. There had been no question which. Technically, Janken knew, the ritual only really needed two Fraggles, not four, but it wasn't fair to leave people out. That was why they didn't know which of Gobo, Wembley, and Boober had sired Janken; it could have been any of them, as all three had joined in the ritual. Which was fine by Janken; he was happy to call them all his fathers.

Red told Janken, "Well, it'll be just you and me, kiddo." She smiled with genuine warmth.

"Yeah," he answered. Aunt Red was fun. She wouldn't be in the Midsummer Ritual because she wasn't going to start a baby, so she would bring him to the Poobah meeting. That would be fun. It would have been more fun with all of them there, though.

"They'll be doing stuff for at least a couple handfuls of days. We'll come too once the Ritual's over," Wembley said.

"I know," Red replied.

She wasn't willing to admit it, but the schedule conflict wasn't what was bothering Red. Mokey was the motherly one. This would be her second child. She had been through pregnancy, birth, diapers, midnight crying, baby sicknesses, all the horrors that went with having little Fraggles, and now that Janken had become an actual person Mokey was ready to start it all over again. She acted as if there was nothing to it! Red would have been a bundle of nerves if she had been facing that prospect. And yet... she wanted to. She knew that she would be able to handle it; anything that Mokey could do, Red could do too! But would she ever be ready?

Janken asked, "What do the Poobahs do?"

"Silly stuff," Red answered.

"I know. But what kind of silly stuff?"

Wembley said, "It's different every time. But we always act as if it's really serious. That's the fun of it, making fun of taking ourselves too seriously."

"That sounds weird," Janken said skeptically.

"It is," Boober replied.

"Yeah," Wembley said, grinning. "Hey, I can show you a game we played."

"Okay."

"Just a minute, lemme get some stuff." Wembley scampered down the ladder from his sleeping nook and asked Gobo, "You mind?"

"Go ahead," Gobo replied.

Wembley opened a small box in which Gobo kept a few things. He selected some smoothies—well-worn river pebbles—and a few small, shiny discs from Outer Space that were decorated with bas-relief pictures and writing. He glanced around, then added a pair of empty teacups and some unshelled rock nuts. He put these things down on the floor, then held out his arms to Janken and said "C'mere!"

Without hesitation Janken jumped. He landed in Wembley's arms, almost knocking him over. Janken was a little too big for him to catch, but Wembley never minded. Wembley sat on the floor, and pointed to the ground in front of himself. "Sit there, facing me."

Janken did. The others watched with interest as Wembley arranged the objects he had gathered between himself and Janken. He arranged them in mirror fashion; when he put a smoothie in front of himself, he put another smoothie opposite it in front of Janken. When he was done he told Janken, "This game is called 'mirror'. I do things, then you try to do just what I do. If you can copy me ten times, you win. If you miss something, I win. If I do something you can't do and you call foul, then you win too."

"Okay," Janken said.

Wembley picked up a smoothie. Janken did too. Wembley tossed his up and down in his hand a few times. Janken nearly fumbled when he did this, but Wembley let that pass. Next Wembley picked up several rock nuts, then shelled and ate one. Janken followed each move with an expression of intense concentration, even placing the pieces of nutshell to match those that Wembley had dropped. Wembley dropped the rest of the nuts in Janken's teacup. Janken did as well. Wembley said, "Oops. You'd drop them in my teacup, not yours."

"You said to do what you did," Janken pointed out.

"Yeah, but we're supposed to be mirroring each other. It's all right, we’re just practicing now. Let's start over."

Wembley cleared away the nutshells. Red said, "Here, use these."

She tossed a pair of pink ribbons down to them. The others looked at her in surprise. Red said, "What? You've seen my hair down before."

Janken said, "You look neat like that."

"Thanks, kid."

"Thanks, Red," Wembley said as he set the ribbons among the other props. To Janken he said, "Ready?"

"Ready!"

The others watched as Wembley and Janken played with the items, Janken's actions lagging a second behind Wembley's. Wembley was moving slowly, not playing any tricks, to make it easy on the child. After the final move—tying one of Red's ribbons around a teacup and turning it so the bow faced the other player, Wembley said, "You're catching on fast! Since you won, you lead the next game."

"Okay," Janken said.

They played. Wembley copied each of Janken's moves. After a while Wembley said, "That's more than ten."

"Sorry I lost count," Janken said with a grin.

"Now I'm going to make it tricky," Wembley said.

"Okay."

Wembley arranged the props, and added a few more nuts and pebbles. He said, "Now watch closely." He scooped up all of the nuts on his side in one hand. Janken tried to do the same, but his hands were too small. He picked them up in both hands. Wembley said, "You could have called foul on me because I did something you couldn't do. But it's okay if you used both hands, so let's keep going."

"Yeah!"

Wembley balanced a nut on top of the pebble closest to Janken, then set another nut between it and the cup, and a third in a loop of ribbon. Janken did the same, placing the nuts carefully. Wembley held up one nut in front of his face, then put it on Janken's nose. Janken went cross-eyed for a moment, staring in surprise at the nut. Then he placed one on Wembley's nose.

The two stared at each other, and Janken struggled not to laugh and make the nut fall. Then Wembley removed the nut from his own nose and placed it with the others in his hand. Janken did the same, with relief; he couldn't watch Wembley's hands while balancing a nut on his nose! Wembley dropped nuts into his teacup, and Janken did the same. Then Wembley held his fist, palm downward, out toward Janken. Janken touched his fist to Wembley's. Wembley opened his hand, and a single nut fell out. Janken stared at it. He opened his hand, but nothing came out. "Was that foul?"

Wembley answered, "It was fair. The idea is that the leader tries to trick the follower, and the follower tries to guess what tricks the leader is going to play. But why don't you lead the next game?"

The two continued playing. Boober watched; he was an inveterate spectator. Gobo picked up his guitar and began playing a quiet, meandering tune. Mokey started to say something to Red, then didn't; her roommate was watching the game intently. Mokey wondered why; Red had never been that interested in playing 'mirror' before, as it wasn't physical enough for her.

The next time Wembley was the leader, he decided to give Janken an easy win. Close to the end of the game he opened his mouth and turned his nose down to distort his face comically, expecting Janken to call foul on him. Instead, Janken made the same face back at him.

Wembley stared at him, shocked. Then he said, "How did you do that?"

"How did you do that?" Janken echoed.

One move left, and Janken was determined to win this game. Wembley, at a loss, lightly beeped Janken's nose with a finger. Grinning, Janken beeped back. "That's ten. My turn!"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Wembley said. "Hey, everybody, look at this! Janken, do this again!" He made the same strange face again.

Janken copied him. When he saw his other parents' startled reactions, he said, "What?"

Excitedly Wembley said, "Have you ever seen anyone besides me do that?"

Gobo replied, "You're the only Fraggle I know with a double-jointed nose."

"Mokey, you try it!"

"I don't think I can, but here goes." She opened her mouth and tried to tilt her nose down, but was only able to manage an awkward gape. "That wasn't close, was it?"

"Nope," Wembley said happily. "How about you, Gobo?"

"You know my face isn't made of rubber like yours is," Gobo answered.

"Just try. C'mon, please?"

Gobo knew where Wembley was heading with this. "All right."

His attempt was worse than Mokey's; his nose didn't bend at all. Wembley said, "Now you, Boober."

"I'm no good at gurning."

Janken said, "It's easy! Just do this." He opened his mouth and turned his nose down to touch his tongue. "See?" he asked, his voice slightly distorted.

Boober sighed. He tried to copy Janken, and his effort was no more successful than Mokey's. Janken laughed and turned to Red. "Now you!"

Red's face was more flexible than the others', but she was still not in Wembley's league. Still, she made a face at Janken, making him giggle.

Wembley caught Janken up in a hug. "D'you know what this means? It means you had to have gotten that from me! You're my son!"

"But I was before," Janken said, surprised.

"But this proves I'm your father for real!" He squeezed Janken again, then had a sudden thought. Looking around at the others, he said, "Um... I think I ought to bow out of the Midsummer Ritual tonight. It wouldn't be fair if I got lucky twice. I'll go with Red and Janken to the Poobahs' meeting tonight. If that's okay with everybody."

Mokey, Gobo, and Boober nodded agreement. Mokey said, "We'll miss you, Wembley."

Wembley grinned. "You'll do all right without me."

Everybody chuckled except for Janken, who did not understand the joke, and Red, who was stiff and tense. Janken was drawing in a breath to speak when Red blurted out, "Um, I don't know how to say this without hurting anyone's feelings, and I really don't want to do that, so—nobody get upset, okay?"

"What's on your mind, Red?" Mokey asked, surprised by Red's sudden change of mood.

Red's tail was twitching nervously. Hands clenched together, she said, "Well... I always felt like it'd be right for me and Gobo to have a baby. Not that I don't like you, Boober and Wembley! But… I was thinking, next time I'll be ready to be a mother." She swallowed hard, then asked Gobo, "Would you wait for me?"

Gobo put his guitar aside and crossed the room to sit beside her. He put an arm around her shoulders and said softly, "Sure, I'll wait for you, Red."

She said in a squeaky voice, "Thanks."

Wembley said, "I understand, Red. I don't mind."

"I don't either," Boober told her. Red and Gobo had always been close; he couldn't be offended that she would choose him.

"That leaves just you and me for the Ritual," Mokey told Boober.

"It does, doesn't it," Boober agreed.

Gobo said, "I'll be going to the Poobah meeting too, then."

"Looks like that," Wembley agreed brightly.

Boober said, "Mokey, about this change of plans… could I speak with you?"

"Of course. Is anything wrong?"

"Not at all. I just had a thought..."

"Uh, oh, a thought!" Wembley elbowed Boober in the side. Boober flinched.

"Why don't we talk in your room, then," Mokey suggested.

"All right. See you later," Boober said to the rest.

"Bye-bye," Janken said as Boober and Mokey left. Mokey looked back and smiled at him.

Gobo said to Red, "Maybe you and I ought to talk a little too."

"Yeah, let's go to my and Mokey's room. I bet she won't be back for a while."

Gobo chuckled. "I'll bet. See you guys tonight," he said to Wembley and Janken.

"See ya," Wembley said.

"Bye," Janken said as Gobo and Red, their arms around each other's shoulders, walked out.

Wembley said to Janken, "That leaves just you and me, kid." He knelt to put himself on eye level with the little Fraggle. "Jan, I really am happy you're my son. I didn't think I could be your father for the longest time, but still I always kinda hoped," he said softly.

Janken asked, "What should I call you now?"

"Well, my name's as good as ever. Or, well, Papa would make me really happy."

"Okay... Papa," Janken told him.

Wembley hugged him tightly. Janken hugged back, but his stomach was tense. Not Papa Wembley as he had been before, just Papa. He was Janken's only father now. He pressed his face to Wembley's shoulder and shut his eyes.

*****

Fraggle Rock and all characters except Janken are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.

 

[Delta Shout]

First off, I want to say: D'awwww...

This was so gorgeous. I read (and love) your all FF on here, and I look forward to every new one.
This one looks extra good, if your pics and teasers are anything to go by.

Recently cryptic notes had begun appearing in the Great Hall and the surrounding caves, all addressed to "Fritz."

I had to stop reading at this point, I was laughing so hard. I always wondered how the Poobahs announced their next meeting, and it's good to know Fritz will be there, with or without an explanation.

But we always act as if it's really serious. That's the fun of it, making fun of taking ourselves too seriously

Okay, a slight brain-melt here for me. But I sat and planned it out, it does make sense, and in a Wembley-type voice too. You're really great at getting the characters right. *is secretly jealous*

Red and Gobo were just... I really don't have words. But I loved them!

Boober and Mokey, what are they going to talk about, I wonder.
(A wild guess is it has something to do with the pic 'Wanna sock in the nose' where you mentioned Gobo and Red think he hasn't done something.)
[does that sentence make any sense at all? Am I hanging around Wembley too much?]

Wembley and Janken, with the mirror game - sorry, but I have to squee! - and the "double jointed nose". An excellent description for a funny face, also brilliantly followed by the attempts of the others to pull the same thing.

Wembley hugged him tightly. Janken hugged back, but his stomach was tense. Not Papa Wembley as he had been before, just Papa. He was Janken's only father now. He pressed his face to Wembley's shoulder and shut his eyes.

wow. That really is a heart-wrenching cliffhanger.
Poor Janken, he thinks he's lost his other fathers. I'm sure Wembley didn't mean it that way, he just tends to get excited and say things the wrong way (A Brush With Jealousy, case in point).

You may not hear from me for a while (always been a bit of a lurker), but I'm eagerly awaiting the next chapter.

 

[Slackbot]

Thanks, I'm glad you like this fic so far! I always get worried when I post stuff and it's met with silence. Heh, I'm insecure that way. Thanks for breaking our silence and reassuring me that all is not in vain.

I've been wanting to write something about the Poobahs for a while. It'll be good to finally get it out of my system. I've got the next chapter mostly written, but, of all the silly things, I'm stuck on a song. Song writing is not my bag, but some situations (such as rituals) call for 'em, y'know? Especially when the characters are in a particularly, mm, lighthearted mood.

 

[Slackbot]

Fair warning: this chapter may be hazardous to those allergic to either ush or gush.

*****

The Mamas & The Papas
Part 2: I'll Remember Tonight
By Kim McFarland​

*****

It was early evening, and Gobo, Red, Wembley, Mokey, Boober, and Janken were clearing the clutter in Gobo and Wembley's room after they had had an early supper. They often dined here, as Boober's room was too small to accommodate all of them comfortably and Mokey and Red's room was too cluttered.

The cleanup didn't take long, as the meal Boober had provided was simple enough. A large, roasted radish, cooked just enough to soften it and allow the seasonings to penetrate the flesh; other vegetables that were good raw, their crunchy flesh contrasting with the softness of the radish, with dipping sauces; bread; and mixed berries. Normally he would have made a sauce for the berries too, but time had been tight that day, and washing dishes was not the quiet pleasure that cooking and laundry were.

They cleaned the dishes and stowed everything away quickly, as they all had better things to do than housework. Mokey and Boober tried to make a discreet exit, but Gobo said, "Where are you guys going?"

Boober flinched. Mokey answered, "We were planning to go to the Messin' Around Cave."

"Not someplace more, you know, private?" Red asked.

Boober replied, "Everyone's going to be parading around in silly robes and chanting nonsense in the Firefly Cavern. The Messin' Around Cave is on the other side of the Great Hall, so we'll have all the privacy we need."

"Huh, that's right," Wembley agreed.

"So if you'll excuse us..."

"Hey, we'll walk you over," Gobo said with an odd smile. "Think of it as a processional."

Mokey said, "That would be wonderful!"

Boober sighed, "It'll certainly be unsubtle."

Gobo slung his guitar strap over his shoulder. As they set out he strummed the strings and began singing a hiking song in a soft voice,

"Well, when the path is deep and stony
And the night is all around
And the way you must take is far away,"​

Red joined in, singing in harmony with him.

"When your heart is lost and lonely
And the map cannot be found
Here’s a simple little spell that you can say..."​

Both picked up the tempo and sang energetically,

"You gotta face facts, act fast on your own,
Preparation, perspiration, dynamite determination !"​

Wembley laughed as the joke dawned on him, and he joined in the song.

"Pack snacks, make tracks all alone,
Don’t be cute, time to scoot,
Head out for your destination!"​

By the beginning of the next verse they were all singing, even Boober.

"Face facts, act fast on your own!
Preparation, perspiration, dynamite determination!
Pack snacks, make tracks all alone!
Chase the future, face the great unknown!"​

**

When they reached the Messin' Around Cave it was unoccupied, as predicted. Red hugged Mokey hard and whispered, "Good luck!"

"Thanks," Mokey answered.

"See you later, Mama," Janken said.

"I will. Have fun tonight."

"You too!"

All of the Fraggles laughed, and Gobo, Wembley, Red, and Janken departed, leaving Boober and Mokey alone. It suddenly seemed very quiet.

Boober said to her, "This isn't what I expected..."

"Me either. But I'm not sorry."

"Neither am I," he said softly. He looked up into Mokey's warm smile for a moment, then said, "Let me check something. It'll only take a second. 'Kay?"

"Okay."

He went back into the cave. She followed. He put his shoulder to a rock and rolled it aside. Behind it was some folded cloth. He moved it, revealing a basket underneath. "Good, nobody found it."

"You packed a picnic too?"

"Face facts, make tracks, pack snacks," he answered with a small smile. He returned the basket to its hiding spot, but did not roll the rock back into place. Then he looked at her and said, "Um."

Poor Boober, Mokey thought. He was a little shy sometimes. He still needed someone else to break the ice for him. She embraced him. The long, drooping sleeves of her robelike sweater enfolded him, hiding all but his head. He put his arms around her under her sweater and breathed in her scent, with the special, subtle undertone she had only once a year.

After a moment she let him go. She leaned back just enough to meet his eyes and touched his cap. He tilted his head down. She lifted the cap off, revealing a mop of bright red hair. He reached up under her sweater and put his hands on her shoulders, then pushed back. She lowered her arms so he could slip her sweater off.

He folded her sweater and set it on a clean rock, and she set his cap on top of that. Then she untied his scarf and set it on the pile. He reached up to touch her beaded necklace, and she bent forward so he could lift it over her head.

She looked so different without her sweater, he thought. Slender and tall. Elegant. She would have been intimidating if not for her familiar, gentle smile.

He'd be fine, she knew; despite his serious expression, his tail was wagging. His tail never lied. Both knelt facing each other, so close their knees were touching. Softly they sang the song that began the Midsummer Ritual:

"Let our hands touch, as one,
Let our eyes meet, as one,
Let our hearts beat as one heart.
Let us breathe as one for now.

Make of our joy new joy,
Bring from our lives new life.
Now it begins, now it starts,
Join hands, join hearts,
Breathe the breath of life in now."​

She put her hands on his cheeks. He rested his hands on her legs so he could lean forward to meet her, and they kissed.

**

The others had gone back to Gobo and Wembley's room. Red and Gobo were sitting side by side in Gobo's nook and talking softly. Wembley was showing Janken a set of robes. The colors were somber, but they were decorated with embroidery and appliqués that gave it as over-elaborate look, as if its maker had only stopped adding detail when there was no more room. "What do you think?"

Janken looked at it skeptically. "It looks silly."

"Of course! That's the idea," Wembley said. "Mine's like that too, but it's not as neat-looking 'cause Mokey didn't make it. She joined after Gobo and Red and I did, and she didn't know at first that it was all a joke. Red really kinked her tail." Wembley glanced over, intending to draw her into the conversation, but she and Gobo were not listening, so he let them alone.

Janken could not share Wembley's enthusiasm. Now that Boober and Gobo were no longer his fathers, he only had Papa Wembley. He loved Wembley, but losing the others made his insides hurt. Aunt Red was distant now, and, he worried, because Mokey was going to have another child, maybe she wouldn't have time to be his mother too.

Wembley set the robe aside and put an arm around Janken's shoulders to draw him close. "Don't be nervous," he said gently. "You'll be fine. With as much spirit as you have, you'll fit right in."

Janken nodded halfheartedly. Fit in with the Poobahs? Who cared? He wanted his family, not some dumb club!

Wembley said, "I need to get some stuff. Be right back," to Janken, and patted his shoulder. Janken nodded. Wembley scampered out of the room, leaving Janken alone with Red and Gobo. Janken went over and tapped Gobo's foot.

"Hmm? What's up?" Gobo asked, looking down at the little Fraggle.

"What should I call you now?" Janken asked in a small voice.

"My name still works. Why?" Gobo answered, puzzled.

Janken just nodded and went back to the other side of the room. He sat down, looking at the robe and mask his mother made for him.

A few minutes later Wembley dashed back in, his arms loaded down with goofily ornate costuming. "They're about to start the procession," he exclaimed.

"Already?" Red asked, surprised.

"Yeah! C'mon, let's suit up!"

The adult Fraggles got into their ceremonial robes and helped each other put on their headdresses. Gobo remarked, "It's too bad that Mokey and Boober won't be there."

"Yeah," Red agreed. "We may practically have to twist Boober's arm to get him to go, but according to his tail he enjoys it whether he'll admit to it or not. And it doesn't hurt Mokey to loosen up either."

Adjusting his nose covering, Wembley said, "Yeah. Oh well, they'll only miss tonight." He glanced over, and saw that Janken had not started dressing. "Need some help, Jan?"

"I don't want to go. I don't feel good," the child mumbled.

Wembley took his headpiece off. "I'll stay with you if you feel sick," he said, concerned.

"No. I just wanna sleep. Alone," Janken said, a little shrilly.

Taken aback, Wembley said, "Well...okay, if that's what you want."

"Yeah."

Janken curled up and drew the robe over himself like a blanket. The others finished dressing. When they heard the beginning of the procession music Wembley patted Janken's head and said, "You sure?"

"Yeah. See you later."

"Okay."

When Janken was finally alone he listened to the song of the Poobahs. He couldn't be sure if he was hearing right; they didn't seem to make sense.

After a few minutes the song faded. Everyone would be in the Firefly Cavern—or the Messin' Around Cave—by now. Janken got up and ran out of the room.

*****

Fraggle Rock, "Face Facts, Pack Snacks, Make Tracks", and all characters except Janken are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.

 

[The Count]

Heh, that's a good chapter. I can't help thinking that the chapter titles are song lyric references that I haven't gotten just yet. Maybe there'll be something about a creeque alley in another segment.

Nice how the F5 worked that song into a joke amongst them when the dinner party broke up.

<3 the naturalness of Mokey+Boober in the Messin' Around Cave, and I think elegant is a fitting term for Mokey.

Too bad Janken's feeling like his nuclear unit's breaking up all around him.

Great stuff, please post more soon.

 

[TogetherAgain]

Afraid I don't have time to go into detail too much, but I wanted to let you know I've been reading and enjoying the story. I feel so bad for poor little Janken!

More please! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

 

[Slackbot]

The Count: You are very close with the chapter titles. I was hoping someone would catch that.

TogetherAgain: Thanks! Don't worry too much about Janken. He's obviously going through a rough time, but we've seen him as an adult, and he doesn't seem too scarred. And yes, more to come. I'm currently writing for the Poobahs, heh heh. Here's a snippet.

*****

"All right, listen up! I don't have time for a rolecall. If you're not here, speak up!"

"Absent!"

"Absent!"

"Absent, but I'll be here later!"

The World's Oldest Poobah glared at the three who had spoken. "Fritz, Fritz, and... Fritz, isn't it? Well, this won't look good on your records." The other members turned and glared at the absentees, grumbling darkly.

*****

If anyone's curious, the Midsummer Festival song that Boober and Mokey sang goes to the tune of One Hand, One Heart from West Side Story. It's one of the most beautiful love songs I know, and I know it by heart, having listened to the soundtrack umty-hundred times. However, I've only seen the movie once, and that was about 25 years ago, so I didn't remember the scene itself. When, after I finished the chapter, I found that sequence on YouTube, I was startled to see that the scene I'd written was surprisingly similar to that of the movie, but with the genders flipped.

 

[The Count]

"And... Fritz is it?"
No! Er, I mean, yes. Sorry, was thinking of some other Fritz.

 

[Slackbot]

Hopefully not a cat.

 

[Slackbot]

The Mamas and The Papas​

Part 3: The "In" Crowd​

By Kim McFarland​

*****

Janken hurried through the passageways of Fraggle Rock, unseen by anything but cave creatures and a cluster of Inkspots. The twisty tunnels led upward, and finally opened in the Gorgs' garden.

Hiding behind a fern, Janken looked around. Junior Gorg was tending the garden, and his father was dozing under a tree. Janken waited until Junior's back was turned, then hurried over to the low wall that bordered the garden. Neither Gorg saw him. He was not afraid of them; Ma and Pa tolerated Fraggles, and Junior was friendly, but he didn't want to talk with them now. Staying close to the wall, he went past the well and around to the back of the garden.

When he arrived at the home of the Trash Heap, the place looked abandoned. Janken knew better, however. He said, "Hello?"

With a sound of clinking glass and shifting material the Trash Heap lifted her head, then arose. She glanced around and said, "Where are those boys? Oh well." Looking at Janken, she said, "I guess I have to do my own introduction. I am the wise and all-knowing trash heap. Welcome to my presence. What are you doing here all alone, little Fraggle?"

"I'm Janken. I need help," he said in a small voice.

"Come here and tell me about it." She beckoned to him.

He approached. He was not sure where the general trash ended and she began; he only knew that the moving stuff was definitely her. He sat on a shiny cylindrical thing with paper around most of its middle and said, "I'm sad."

"What are you sad about?"

Janken looked at the ground. His stomach hurt when he thought about what seemed to be happening to his family. Two of his fathers were no longer his fathers, and he didn't know if his mother would still be his mother after she had another baby next spring. He felt sad and worried. It hurt to think of these things. It would hurt even more to say them; it would be like making them real.

The Trash Heap watched Janken. She could tell a lot from the child's expression. He was struggling with something. It must have taken a lot of courage for him to come to her all alone. She waited patiently.

He had to tell her about it, he knew. She couldn't help him if he didn't tell her about his problem. She might be all-seeing and all-knowing, but she couldn't read his mind. He looked up and was about to speak, to blurt it out any way he could, when he heard a pair of familiar voices.

"Hey, Marjorie! Look at this!"

"Yeah! We found some really snazzy stuff!"

Philo and Gunge, the Trash Heap's rodentlike associates, scuttled around the wall the same way Janken had come. They were manhandling a dustpan between the two of them, and on it was a collection of pink, wasp-waisted, cracked tubes.

"Lookit this neat stuff! I found most of it."

"Boys..."

"You did not! You just found the curlers."

"And you just found the dustpan. Hah, that's just thing, but I got nine curlers!"

That only counts as one!"

"Boys!"

The rodents stopped squabbling and looked at her. She gestured at Janken. The rodents startled when they saw the visitor. Philo said, "We didn't see you there."

Gunge added, "We thought you was a piece of purple garbage. Well, anyway, you are in the presence of the all-seeing-"

"All-knowing-"

"Trash Heap! Nyeah," they finished together.

"Now, what seems to be the problem?" Gunge asked.

"Yeah, speak up!"

"Never mind," Janken said, and slid off his perch.

Philo and Gunge watched him leave, his eyes downcast. Philo asked, "What was that all about?"

"I didn't get a chance to find out," The Trash Heap answered reproachfully.

"Eh, if he needs ya he'll be back," Gunge said.

"Yes, he will," she said as she watched the Fraggle disappear around the garden wall.

"Yeah," Philo said. Then he turned to the Trash Heap. "Get a load of this neat trash, Marjorie! Ain't these the prettiest thingammies ya ever saw?" he said, holding up a pair of curlers.

Gunge stepped in front of Philo. "Never mind that. Look at this dustpan! A broken dustpan for a trash heap! We can use it to not clean up around here! Is that conceptual or what?"

**

The procession of the Poobahs reached the Firefly Cavern. It took a while for everyone to enter, as they were traveling in single file. The processional song was dreary and somber, and they danced a suitably subdued conga line coming in.

When the Poobahs were assembled, a white-bearded Poobah wearing a white robe decorated with crayon doodles ascended to the podium. "All right, listen up! I don't have time for a rolecall. If you're not here, speak up!"

"Absent!"

"Absent!"

"Absent, but I'll be here later!"

The World's Oldest Poobah glared at the three who had spoken. "Fritz, Fritz, and... Fritz, isn't it? Well, this won't look good on your records." The other members turned and glared at the absentees, grumbling darkly.

"Next order of business! Do we have any inductees?"

The Fritzes looked around among themselves. Then one said, "O-oopided-nay."

"Huh," the World's Oldest Poobah said, surprised. He had thought that the son of Gobo and all those others was going to join today. "Well, moving right along. As usual, we're gonna select a new High Mucky-Muck 'cause it's that time again. So, let's open up the floor to nominations."

Fritz said, "The floor doesn't open up. It just lies there."

Fritz replied, "A couple of hours with pickaxes and it'd open up!"

Poobahs started milling about, ready to grab tools. The World's Oldest Poobah declared, "Nominations first! Come on, I want to live long enough to pass the gavel!"

Fritz pointed at a Poobah who was trying to eat a cracker discreetly. "I nominate Fritz."

"All right, Fritz, what's your platform?"

Looking around, Fritz replied, "I don't stand on platforms. They usually break under me."

"Good as any and better'n some. Let's have some more!"

Fritz raised a hand and said, "I nominate Fritz." He pushed the Poobah next to himself forward.

Needing no prompting, Fritz declared, "If made the High Mucky-Muck, I promise to be worse than the others we've had."

The World's Oldest Poobah gave him a hard look, then said, "Tall order. Well, any others?"

"I nominate Fritz!"

After a long pause, The World's Oldest Poobah said, "Well? Care to get more specific?"

"Er, I'm Fritz. Don't you recognize me?"

The World's Oldest Poobah leaned forward and squinted. "Oh, yes, I never forget a face. Well, is that it?" He looked around the chamber. "All right, now for the Ceremony of the Passing of the Gavel." He got down from the podium and made his way to the center of the cavern. The other Poobahs backed away to make room for him, more out of deference to his swinging staff than to him. "Right, Fritz, you stand in front of me." He turned a third of a circle. "Fritz, you here." He turned again. "And you..."

"Fritz."

"I knew that!" He drew back his staff as if to bop him, then stopped and pointed with it. "Right here."

When he was ringed by the three candidates, he said, "Everybody bow down! This is a solemn occasion!"

All of the assembled Poobahs got to their knees. The world's oldest Poobah said to the candidates, "Not you, you ninnies!" When they got back up, he said, "And now, the blindfold. Fritz, give me a hand here."

After the applause died down one Poobah stepped out of the crowd and tied The World's Oldest Poobah's beard over his eyes. He said, "Here he go!" and spun himself. His staff swung out and shattered a cracker.

The Poobahs cheered. The World's oldest Poobah pulled his beard off his face. "Eh? Who is it?"

"All hail the cracker!" one Poobah cried, and soon the others took up the cheer.

The World's Oldest Poobah bent down for a moment. Then he raised his staff for silence. "Unfortunately, this cracker cannot lead us."

"It was chosen fair and square!" Fritz declared.

"Yes, it was, but unfortunately the ordeal was too much for it." The World's Oldest Poobah held up broken cracker fragments. "This is no longer a cracker. It has ceased to crack. It has gone to that great crisp box in the sky. It has crunched its last crunch. This is an ex-snack! Therefore, the title passes onto Fritz!" He bopped that Poobah on the head, causing him to drop another cracker.

"All hail Fritz!" the assembled Poobahs cheered.

The World's Oldest Fraggle handed Fritz a small pickaxe. "Have fun with it, sonny," he said, grinning under his nose covering.

Fritz ascended to the podium. He opened his mouth to speak. Before he started a voice from the back shrilled, "He is no leader!"

The assembly looked back. One Poobah wearing a particularly elaborate mask with winglike feathers on the sides, making him look as if his head was about to fly away, strode forward determinedly. "He was not selected properly. I do not recognize him as leader!"

"I'm Fritz. Don't you recognize me?"

"I don't know you from Fritz, and I say you are no leader! I challenge you to combat for the title of High Mucky-Muck!" He took something long and colorful out of his sleeve as he strode up to the podium. He whirled it about once, then swatted Fritz across the mask. Leaving the argyle sock draped across Fritz's nose, Fritz said, "I challenge you to a duel to the death, or at least extreme indignity, tomorrow. Prepare yourself!" Without waiting for an answer he turned and strode back the way he had come.

**

"—Not much got done after that," Red said, grinning. "Who could follow up an act like that?"

Mokey, sitting on her bed and wearing her nightgown, laughed. Red was taking off her Poobah getup and putting it aside. She draped the robe over a rock spar and hung the headpiece over her tug-o'-tails trophy. Mokey said, "It sounds like I missed quite a show."

"It's not over yet," Red said. "They'll have it out tomorrow. You can see the finale."

"Well, actually, Boober and I were planning to continue the Midsummer Ritual tomorrow."

Red, now getting into her pajamas, said "You are?" in surprise.

"Yes. After all, timing is everything, and I'm not completely sure about tonight," Mokey explained calmly. "Better to be safe than sorry, after all."

"Uh huh. Are you sure that's the only reason why?" Red said with a smirk.

"What other reason could I have?" Money asked innocently.

Red rolled her eyes. The last time she had joined the Midsummer Ritual, it had been for one evening only. But then, it had been three against one. This time the odds were even. "Whatever you say. If you can't get it right the first time..."

"Then try again for luck," Mokey said with a silly smile.

"Luck? Luck has nothing to do with it!"

Mokey leaned back in her bed. "Boober wouldn't agree."

"Whatever. It's just a shame that Janken backed out of joining the Poobahs."

"He did? Why?"

"Wembley thinks he was just nervous. He didn't even go to the meeting. I hope he'll come tomorrow night."

"I hope so too," Mokey said, a thoughtful expression on her face.

**

When Gobo and Wembley came back to their room, Janken was lying awake in his improvised bed. Wembley and Gobo described the evening's entertainment to him. Despite his tension, Janken smiled. It did sound funny.

Now Gobo and Wembley were preparing to bed down for the night. Wembley said from his sleeping nook halfway up the wall, "One thing I keep wondering about. Who was that?"

"Who?"

"Fritz."

"Ahem."

"You know who I mean! The one who challenged Large Marvin. He was making his voice squeaky so I couldn't recognize it. His hair and his tail were covered up, and he was wearing gloves, so I couldn't see what his colors were."

"I think he's meant to be a mystery," Gobo said.

"Yeah, of course," Wembley agreed. "And you're supposed to wonder about mysteries, aren't you?"

"Well, yes," Gobo said.

"At first I thought of Marlon, 'cause it's the kind of thing he'd do, but I dunno. He didn't talk like him at all."

"It wasn't him. I'd recognize his eyes."

"Oh, yeah. So... I dunno. I guess we'll find out tomorrow." To Janken he said, "I hope you'll come with us."

Janken nodded noncommittally. Gobo blew out the lantern, leaving the room lit only by the orange flicker of the fireplace in one corner and a few insomniac Ditzies. Wembley said, "Good night, Janken, Gobo."

Gobo said, "Good night."

Janken said, "'Night."

After a minute Janken slid out of his bed as silently as he could and tiptoed across the floor. He whispered to Gobo, "Can I sleep with you tonight, Uncle Gobo?"

"Huh? Sure." Gobo scooted over, and Janken climbed up into his sleeping nook and slid in under the blanket. Janken was old enough to sleep by himself, and most of the time he did, but once in a while, when he felt lonely or unhappy, he would crawl in with one parent or another for security. He curled up beside Gobo. Gobo ruffled his hair affectionately, then closed his eyes to go to sleep.

Janken had been very quiet, but Wembley had excellent hearing, and had heard every word. Janken must have gone to Gobo because he was closest. A sleepy little Fraggle wouldn't want to climb a ladder, he told himself. Still, he couldn't help feeling a little hurt.

*****

Fraggle Rock and all characters except Janken are copyright © The Jim Henson Company. All copyrighted properties are used without permission but with much respect and affection. Janken and the overall story are copyright © Kim McFarland (negaduck9@aol.com). Permission is given by the author to copy it for personal use only.